


maybe you believe in love

by Nara_stories



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall Endgame, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser (briefly), Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity, Multiple Orgasms, Out of Character, POV First Person, Period Typical Attitudes, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 16:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara_stories/pseuds/Nara_stories
Summary: Claire had done many things to escape Black Jack Randall. Upon their third meeting, when she gets captured by the Captain again, before being able to return to her own time, she decides that telling the truth for once might be worth a try.Strangely, it made me think of St. Ninian. I wished Jack was more superstitious, like Dougal. I wish there was a jug of that sulphurous water at hand, that primitive truth-serum that would make him believe me when I told him I wasn’t a spy, the Crown’s enemy or a threat to his relationship with the duke.I didn’t have time to waste on such wishful thinking, yet the thought was persistent. There was, after all, another way. And what did I have to lose?Written for the Outlander Bingo Challenge. The first chapter fills my "Consequences of a truth serum/spell" field (not that literally).
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall, Claire Beauchamp/Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly based on the show, which is kind of unusual for me. Who am I kidding? Everything about this is unusual for me lol
> 
> I hope you ~~are as uncomfortable reading this as I was writing it~~ enjoy! ;)
> 
> Title from the song Creation by The Pierces

_“It’s not just the blade. It’s the beautiful hand that wields it.”_

Inappropriately, Frank’s words came to my mind first when I saw the light glint on the naked blade, as it was slid out of its sheath. I was probably a bit hysterical by that point, but the sentiment was strangely fitting. Not because of the aesthetic of the hand currently holding said blade, although that too. They were very similar to Frank’s hands and I always insisted he had beautiful ones. Being the gentleman he was, it never failed to make him uncomfortable. He always blushed, half pleased, half embarrassed, until I caved and choose a more masculine adjective.

Still, given the situation, I was not about to admit that Jonathan Randall’s hands were pretty. However, the statement still stood. It wasn’t the blade itself that made my belly clench with terror. The weapon was impressive enough: a long and pointed dagger, well-used, and even better maintained. But those strangely graceful hands were what made my brain scream at me to fight or to flee because I knew exactly the kind of damage they could and would inflict.

There was nowhere to run, and I had no chance of physically fighting him, even if my hands were not bound behind my back. The coarse rope scratched at my skin. He tied it very securely. All I could do was back away slowly.

I almost got him. I tried to focus on that frustrating fact to stop the frightened shivers that ran down my spine. I came so close to fooling him, with that little bit of information I picked up from Frank’s research. The Duke of Sandringham. His benefactor’s name had the desired effect and for a couple of minutes, I had the pleasure of seeing the confidence of Black Jack Randall waver.

It had been a heady feeling, for a few glorious minutes. Putting on a false smile and some bravado to try and beat him at his own game. Watching his expression fall in shock. Giving him a sweet look and grabbing his stock, yanking him closer with a bit more force than necessary, when all I wanted to do is be very, _very_ far away from him.

No, that was not true. In that single moment, I would have enjoyed watching him kneel at my feet and begging for my forgiveness.

He was not used to someone standing up to him, especially a woman. Even now, helpless as I was, I could tell he was unnerved by me holding his gaze. His eyes were the exact same shade of brown as Frank’s. I searched them for even just a fraction of Frank’s compassion, but there was none to be found. This man wasn’t my husband and wasn’t like him at all.

My first husband, that is. Because, technically, I had two husbands now. I bit my lip not to let a hysterical laugh escape. What did I do to deserve this and how the hell did I end up in such a mess?

It was exactly Black Jack Randall I had tried to avoid by marrying Jamie Fraser. He was the biggest obstacle that could stand between me getting home. From the Scots, I could get away. And I did get away from them. Only to get into the hands of that particular British officer again, suddenly flesh and bone, and not just a name on the family chart, who was convinced of me being a spy, and who had both the means and the motivation to stop me.

And so, I went along with Dougal’s ludicrous plan.

Not that I had much choice. No one asked my opinion. To be fair, they didn’t need to. When faced with the choice between marrying a Scottish boy, whose full name I didn’t even know or to be questioned – tortured – by my husband’s psychotic great-great-great-grandfather… It wasn’t a choice at all.

And so, Jamie, whose life I saved was soon to become my husband. It felt as if I was dropped into someone else’s life by accident. While the men were preparing the wedding, I found oblivion in a bottle of whiskey.

The irony of the situation didn’t escape me. No, it was what made me start drinking in the first place.

I remembered the night before I fell through the stones. Frank was telling me he might have seen a ghost under my window. Being the logical person he was, he dismissed it and implied that he thought it might have been someone I found comfort with during the war. The memory made me swallow another mouthful of whiskey to wash away the guilt and the shame.

I should have told him.

He made it clear that he wouldn’t have held it against me.

Why couldn’t I just tell him he was right?

Maybe it was the fact that he knew me so well that rubbed me the wrong way. That he took one look at my face talking about that Scottish piper and guessed correctly. Or the precarious situation of our relationship, so freshly out of the war, still figuring out the people we had become. I didn’t want him to see me any differently than he had five years ago.

It was stupid, and now I felt wretched about it.

The one thing that Frank didn’t guess correctly was that it couldn’t have been him standing there. I went home from the war. He hadn’t.

I could have blamed it on grief that I didn’t say anything, but I was not in love with him. It was about comfort and companionship, just like Frank said.

I wiped my eyes and swallowed another gulp of whiskey.

And now, I was about to do it again. I was going to be unfaithful to him again.

No, the irony of the situation absolutely did not escape me.

It was perhaps early afternoon when Dougal found me, yanked me out of my comfortable bed of hay and put me in the care of a middle-aged woman who started vigorously combing my hair and proceeded to dress me in clean undergarments and cheerfully stuff me in an expensive-looking dress, that was pretty, although quite a bit too tight in the chest area. If I had to marry someone, Jamie was, in fact, my best option. He was someone, I could even call a friend. But it all happened so fast, and I didn’t want to marry him!

“Get yourself together,” I muttered to myself. “It’s not like there was much time between Frank’s proposal and your marriage.”

That thought only served to make me feel even more miserable. On my first wedding day, there was no pressure, and certainly no life-or-death scenario. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, that I treasured among my best memories in the following years.

People who didn’t know Frank very well always thought him a bit uptight. I guess, that came with his time in academic circles and the military. In truth, he could be strangely sweet, and spontaneous. Rebellious in small ways.

And so, that particular morning, I didn’t know I would be Mrs. Randall by the end of it. I wasn’t dressing to be a bride. Not like now, being stuffed into a dress meant for a lady who never got it because her husband liked whoring too much.

“Something old, something new…” I muttered to myself hysterically, making my companion look up.

“It’s alright to be nervous, dear,” she smiled good-heartedly.

I opened my mouth to snap back but restrained myself. It wouldn’t be of any use. It was just one of those things I couldn’t even begin to explain to people in this time. What else did I want as a woman than marry a strapping young man?

Getting back to my proper husband perhaps.

My head was pounding. There was only one thing that broke through the haze of the hangover.

I didn’t much know about what form of contraception existed in this century, but being a nurse, I wasn’t going to take chances. So, I brought the topic up. The woman gave me a hard look but came up with a small sponge and a strong-smelling liquid.

“Only for this time, aye? It’s understandable, everything is so rushed. But ye cannae deny him bairns for long and ye’ll confess it after, aye?”

I nodded stupidly along. Just the idea of stuffing it up there nauseated me but I didn’t have much choice about the matter. Jamie was a healthy young man saving himself for exactly this occasion and even if he didn’t want me he would insist on consummating the marriage to make it absolutely watertight in a legal sense.

It was only for this one time. I was not planning on repeating it. This was only temporary, to escape Captain Randall. Then, I would get away as soon as possible and get back to Frank.

That thought gave me strength. This was only a detour. It was best if I didn’t think too much about it. There was also no point in spoiling the day for Jamie who was almost trembling with excitement.

And so, I took off my gold wedding ring that I wore for over five years and carefully put it down the cleavage of my dress, then forced myself to smile at Jamie. He was dashing in his plaid, blue eyes kind and eager. I could play the part of being his beautiful bride for one day. And so I did. In a hungover, shocked, hazy fog I married a Highlander.

Afterwards, we got really drunk again, this time together and talked for hours. By the end of it, it didn’t seem such a tragedy that I had to sleep with this man.

I actually found it endearing that he was saving himself for the wedding night. While in this time, everyone expected it from a woman, they didn’t think it held the same importance for men. Bloody hypocrites. I felt a pang of unease that I would be Jamie’s first and not someone he got to keep. I waved it away. Just like he joked. At least next time he’ll be the one who knew what to do.

I always liked telling men what to do in bed and instructing Jamie how to remove my complicated garments got us into a rhythm that I found reassuring. He did look for me for guidance initially. He was eager but could be slowed down. After a while, however, he started getting into it, which made him perhaps a touch too bold.

He turned me around and tried to take me from behind. For the first time, his size intimidated me. I tried to gentle him with a kiss and pulled him on top of me.

We tumbled on the bed in a heap, laughing, my head spinning from alcohol. Jamie made an adorably surprised face when he found his way inside and said something in Gaelic.

There was no finesse in how he took me. I wasn’t expecting it from him. Luckily, he wasn’t too rough either. In all honesty, between the tremendous amount of whiskey I consumed in the past twenty-four hours and the tonic-soaked sponge stuffed up there, I didn’t expect an orgasm. Nor did I feel it was right for me to get that pleasure out of it.

Jamie enjoyed himself and I resorted to watching his face with a certain amount of fondness.

In his defence, after coming he looked a bit remorseful, thinking I didn’t enjoy it. However, he seemed to explain this away with me being a woman and I was too tired to enlighten him. I forced a smile, that I hoped would be convincing.

“I did like it, Jamie,” I lied. He deserved to have a good memory of this at least.

He smiled then, flopping down beside me.

Something occurred to me with a flash of panic. Frank’s ring!

I glanced at Jamie, but he dozed off, so I got up and started rummaging around in the pile of our discarded clothes. If I lost Frank’s wedding ring, I would never forgive myself. Finally, my hands found the cool metal of the gold band. I closed it in my fist and pressed it against my chest, letting out a relieved sigh.

My heart was racing at the thought of Frank. I hoped he was alright, that he wasn’t worrying too much. I slid the ring back to its place on my finger and vowed that I would get back to him as soon as possible.

It was all, apparently for nothing, because I ended up in the exact same mess I barely crawled out of by marrying young Jamie. Namely, with Black Jack Randall’s dangerous attention zeroed in on me.

He pointed the tip of the knife against my chest and smiled, pleased at having the upper hand again.

“So, this is why you would bed one of those brutish Scots just to avoid talking to me? Have you been pretending to be in the Duke’s employ all along? Perhaps to spy for the Jacobite cause?”

I shook my head. Damn it, I had made it worse.

“I just want to go home,” I said. “To my husband. I swear that’s all.”

He raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“Your husband? Which one? The Scottish or the imaginary one?” He took a look at my face and his eyes widened. He laughed. “This is getting better and better. So, your previous husband is not dead after all? Well, Madam, it’s a very strange way to go about it then to marry another man.”

He shook his head.

“Still, I don’t really care about your married life, if you forgive me,” he said dismissively, making a vague gesture with the knife. Let’s focus on your true intentions. I have promised to uncover them, and I’m a man of my word.”

I gulped. Yes, he told me that he would do that, by any means necessary, and I finally believed him fully. This was it. If I didn’t give him a sufficient explanation, one he believed in, he would most likely torture me, until I told him what he wanted to hear.

And then kill me.

Strangely, it made me think of St. Ninian. I wished Jack was more superstitious, like Dougal. I wish there was a jug of that sulphurous water at hand, that primitive truth-serum that would make him believe me when I told him I wasn’t a spy, the Crown’s enemy or a threat to his relationship with the duke.

I didn’t have time to waste on such wishful thinking, yet the thought was persistent. There was, after all, another way. And what did I have to lose?

“I’ll tell you the truth,” I blurted out before he could put that knife to use.

He looked extremely dubious. He was looking forward to causing me pain.  
“Pardon me, if I’m not particularly willing to believe you after all you did was lie to me. I’m not sure I have the patience to listen to another tale.”

I looked up to the ceiling, to keep the tears that threatened to fall at bay.

“You will not believe me,” I agreed. “But at least I would find comfort in the knowledge that I have tried.”

Something in my voice must have caught his attention. He took a step forward and after a moment of hesitation he lowered the knife an inch and reached out with his other hand instead, taking hold of my chin. I forced myself to look into his eyes, as openly as I could. The movement made a single, hot tear roll down my cheek.

He smeared it with his finger, looking thoughtful. Then he sighed.

“I’ll give you one last chance.” He tapped my lip mockingly with his forefinger. “Be mindful of what is coming out of here. If it is anything but the truth, we will be doing a lot more than talking.”

Somehow, I didn’t doubt that. He pulled back slightly.

“Let’s start with who you really are.”

I wetted my lips, flattening my palm against the wall for reassurance.

“My name _is_ Claire Beauchamp. I didn’t make it up. That is my maiden name.”

“A maiden,” he scoffed. “Hard to imagine. Please do continue.”

I didn’t let his sarcasm deter me, but I had a hard time deciding what to start with.

“Before we first met, I was on honeymoon with my husband. My first one,” I added seeing one of his eyebrows start to climb up. “We married young, then he went away to war. He is a soldier too.”

“Is?” he repeated. “So he is alive?”

I nodded. He looked mockingly impressed.

“You see,” I continued, ”this is what I couldn’t tell you before. And I didn’t tell anyone else either. Because it sounds mad.”

“Don’t test my patience,” he warned me.

I took a breath and just went for it.

“My husband’s name is Frank Randall. And we were married in the year nineteen-thirty-seven.”

His face did the most interesting thing. Both of his eyebrows climbed up, his lips parting slightly. Then he frowned.

“Randall.”

I nodded firmly. He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Frank? You called me that on our first meeting.”

I nodded again, holding my breath. I tried not to hope too much.

“I don’t know of another Randall family in miles and there is no Frank in mine for sure,” he said.

“Not yet,” I answered, drawing this attention to the other bit of fact. “He is your great-great-great-grandson. And you do look very much like him. Or he looks much like you, I guess, I should say.”

He stared at me, but his lips were tipping into a sceptical smile.  
“ _Nineteen_ -thirty-nine you said?” 

“Yes, I know it sounds crazy,“ I agreed. “This is why I said you wouldn’t believe me. But I’m afraid I can’t give you a better explanation,” I glanced at the knife, still in his hand, “no matter how you ask.”

His gaze turned calculating. He lifted the knife, the point dragging lightly over my bodice. I could barely feel it, but it still made me shiver.  
“How exactly did it happen?”, he asked.

I gulped.

“There is an ancient stone-circle at Inverness, called Craigh na Dun,” I started. “One morning I went there and touched one of the stones. And that’s when I ended up here,” instinctively, I tried to gesture around, but all I did was yank at the ropes hopelessly.

Jack pulled the knife back and tapped it against his palm thoughtfully.  
“The scuffle we had with the Scots. That was near Inverness.” He shook his head. “Why did they help you?”

“Because they hate you?” I replied immediately. That seemed to amuse him. Then his face hardened again.

“And what about the Duke?”

“I heard his name from Frank,” I said quickly. “He was speculating that he could be the one protecting you. As you realized, I know nothing else about him at all.”

For a tense moment, he stared at me, then shook his head like a dog. Then his tongue flicked out and touched the tip of a tooth.

“I can’t believe, I’m saying this, Madam, but I think you’re being honest. At least you seem to believe in what you’re saying. And,” he added, “we have established that you’re not much of a skilled liar.”

A spark of hope caught in my chest.  
“You believe me?”

He rolled his eyes at me and I instantly knew why. The situation carried an aerie resemblance to the conversation we had before. I tried to tamper my hope. I almost trusted him before and what I got was a first to the stomach.

As to prove my instinct, he grabbed my arm and spun me around. The breath caught in my throat. I heard him chuckle, then felt the cool blade between my hands, and suddenly, the ropes dropped away. I sucked in a deep lungful of air.

I turned, and for a split second, I swear I could have put my arms around him. Instead, I rubbed at my wrists until the foolish urge passed.

“It would explain, why you are so strange, Madam,” he commented.

I wiped at my face self-consciously.

“It’s also really easy to prove,” I pointed out. “Take me back to Inverness. I’ll show you the stones. And when I go home you’ll know I didn’t lie.”

He yanked me closer, the tip of our noses almost touching.

“I’ll go along with your little story for now. If what you say is true, you’re also a Randall. What kind of gentleman would I be if I haven’t returned the property of a family member. Even if he, apparently, hasn’t been born yet.”


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jack travel to the stones. A game of whist escalates quickly.
> 
> This chapter fills my square "Strip poker was too tame, so we tried sexual favor poker instead" square for the Outlander Bingo Challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where all the (very) explicit stuff is. You have been warned.

Inverness was four days ride away from Fort William. We set off together, Jack easily dismissing the need for a party. It was for the best, I doubted they would have believed in my story.

I wondered what they would think when he got back without me. No doubt that he killed me and hid my body somewhere in the woods. By then I would be with Frank, and so the thought amused me a little.

“Tell me about him,” Jack said abruptly after half a day of silent riding.

It took me a while to catch up and get his meaning.

“About Frank?”

He nodded. And so I started talking about Frank.

“He is a professor,” I said. “He was always interested in the past. Traced the family back to… well, you.”

He looked mildly startled at that.

“That’s how I knew you were from Sussex,” I continued. “Not because of your accent.”

He snorted.

“A professor,” he repeated. “He is well educated then, right?”

I suppressed a smile. His interest surprised me a bit, but I guess it was understandable on some level.

“Yes, he is. That’s how we met. I was raised by my uncle, who was an archaeologist. That is someone who travels the world and uncovers what remained from history,” I tried to explain.

“That doesn’t surprise me. It would explain why you didn’t turn out ladylike at all.” He frowned. “But Frank chose you so I assume he wants you back.”

I really hoped so. Still, I wasn’t going to go into the details of our relationship with him, so I continued.

“Frank was also an officer in the military, when the war broke out,” I explained. He liked that even better.

Over the next days, I continued telling him about World War II and entertaining him with stories about Frank. I couldn’t help feeling a bit like Scheherazade continuing to tell tales to save my life. Occasionally, when it felt natural, I would tell him about my work during the war as well. He always seemed to find those funny.

“It is Nurse Randall then,” he noted with a smirk.

I shot him a mean look.

“I was a senior combat nurse, I’ll let you know.”

“Somehow I can imagine that, Madam,” he said looking me up and down.

The first two nights we slept rough which suited me fine. No eighteenth-century bed could tempt me to take a detour and waste considerable time getting back into my own twentieth-century one. Besides, Jack clearly expected me to be uncomfortable, and I just couldn’t have that.

While being married to his distant descendant seemed enough of a reason for him not to harm me physically, he took every opportunity to take a jab at me or try to humiliate me. During our short acquaintance that already happened more than I would have liked, and so I vowed not to let him have that satisfaction again.

The third night we reached Inverness and stopped at a tavern. Jack tied the horses and went inside to get us a room.

“You don’t mind if I let them assume you’re my wife, do you? Given your… bigamist habits,” he drawled.

I glared back at him.

“Suit yourself.”

“Besides,” he continued when he went up to the room, closing the door behind himself. “I wouldn’t want you to slip out of my hands now, that things are just about to get interesting.”

I refrained from replying to that.

A little while later a simple supper was sent up on a tray along with a bottle of wine. We started eating in comfortable silence. As usual, Jack found the exact moment I relaxed and let down my guard an inch to start talking.

“So, tell me: are all women in two hundred years from now like you?”

I narrowed my eyes at him over the rim of my glass.

“And whatever do you mean by that, Captain?” I asked with acerbic sweetness.

One of his elegant brows twitched. He chewed on a bite, swallowed, then looked up at me, his face a picture of false innocence.

“I’m not sure you want to hear that characterization from me.”

He was dying to spit it out, I could tell. The laugh lines on his face deepened with amusement. I was intimately familiar with that look, but Frank never looked so maliciously gleeful.

“Please, entertain me,” I said coldly. “You know, women of my time are less fragile.”

He openly grinned at that.

“Well, I was going to say insolent, brash and headstrong,” he said, evidently pleased that he could insult me in my face.

I sniffed and took a sip of wine, picking up my fork and knife again.

“You mean independent and not terrified of men?”

He caught my eye and cocked his head. Well, that was perhaps a poor word-choice in the company of a man who made me seriously fear for my life on multiple occasions. I felt my cheeks heat up, and I looked down.

“This is how you see what happened?” he pushed. “Independence? And will Frank see it that way too?”

It was a sensitive topic so I considered my words carefully. What gave me hope was what Frank said on that night, his kind smile. His eyes were full of pain, but he was understanding. He still wanted me.

“I see it as self-preservation,” I answered. “I think Frank would rather have me marry someone else than have his great-great-great-grandfather slash my throat.”

“I wasn’t planning on that,” he said very seriously.

I did not ask him to elaborate. What Frank will think of this, if I managed to get back to him was between us. Jack Randall didn’t need to know about my inner turmoil. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done talking yet.

“I’m just surprised you would go through with it. I mean, I know women generally don’t care for the act itself but sure it’s even worse with a barbarian like that.”

It wasn’t his degrading way of talking about Scottish people that caught my attention. By now, I marked it down as a helpless case.

“You think women don’t like sex?” I asked with a slow smile stretching across my lips.

“Well, sometimes they pretend they do,” he shrugged, “but I can’t say I heard of a woman truly enjoying the act. It’s not surprising, given that you can’t finish.”

I stared at him, then burst out laughing.

“Of course, we can,” I retorted, ignoring the way the air seemed to freeze in the room.

He gave me murderous look.

“How could you? You lack the necessary parts.”

I shook my head, still smiling. While generally, I tried to be understanding of the ignorance people showed in these times regarding my field of expertise, when it came to Jack Randall, I was quite prepared to rub it in how wrong he was.

“Do you still have that pencil?”

He looked suspicious, but went along with it, taking the lead pencil out of his coat pocket and even sharpening it for me. I took it from him and flattened out my napkin, then began my explanation matter-of-factly. I did this a handful of times before, with giggling nurses or cocky soldiers. Nothing compared to seeing Jack’s face though when I promptly sketched a stylized penis onto the cloth. I spared him a glance then drew a vulva next to it.

“There are many parts of the male and female genitalia that develop from the same tissue. Before a baby is born, for a while you couldn’t tell them apart even if you could see inside the mother’s belly. So, for a short while even yours looked like this,” I said, sketching a third indistinguishable blob in the middle.

Then I started explaining the different parts and how they developed, not bothering to tone down the medical terms.

“So,” I concluded, “with the right stimulation, women not just can have an orgasm, but they, in fact, often last longer, then the men’s. They can also have multiple after one another quite easily. It’s just that most of you useless men don’t care about making her feel good. Granted, I don’t even think you could make a woman come. It takes more skill than with a man, you know.”

I smiled at him triumphantly. It felt good putting him in his place. Also, knowing that he was Frank’s ancestor, and therefore presumably married at some point I thought I might just be doing something good for a poor woman who ended up being his wife.

He seemingly abandoned the topic after that. He rummaged around in his saddlebag until he came up with a well-used deck of cards.

“You know how to play whist with to players?”

“In fact, I do.”

It wasn’t much different than bridge, and Frank being so passionate about history taught me all kinds of obscure card games. And since we spent much time just the two of us, I was familiar with the modified, two-player version of these games.

Jack smiled and started shuffling the grimy deck, then dealing out thirteen each. I was feeling good, a little tipsy, and that was when he launched his final attack.

“We should play for something. To make it more interesting. Most points out of three rounds and the winner gets a prize.”

“Alright, of course,” I said. We were almost at the longest night of the year. We had nothing, but time until tomorrow morning.

“I think I could make you come,” he said evenly.

I almost choked on my wine.

“What?”

“You said I could use some practice in the area,” he said with a sly grin. “I propose, the winner gets a nice favor from the other.”

“You mean sexual in nature?”

“I’m sure it would be alright with such an independent lady, like you,” he drawled. “Or wasn’t that the point of your whole argument?”

“The point I was trying to make,” I said slowly, “was that you shouldn’t think a woman less, or handle her much differently. Would you be proposing the same if you were playing with a gentleman?”

I really thought I got him there. But then, he gave me a direct look.

“As a matter of fact, I would.”

I tried not to look surprised. There was no help for it. If I refused, he would have felt like he had already won. I couldn’t have that. And so, we started playing.

Luckily, while I could never stand a chance in poker, I was good at the types of card games that were half chance and half luck. I picked up my cards and Jack flipped over the top card of the remaining deck. It was a rather simple game, the goal was first to get as many good cards as possible, so when there were no more left, you could win the most tricks against the opponent.

We played in silence for a while, getting into a nice rhythm. The next card on top was an ace and I perked up. He smirked a little, then put down the jack of hearts. I rolled my eyes at him. Dramatic bastard. Glanced over my cards. The rules said I had to stay within the suit if I could. The queen was already a good card, but the ace was better, so I pulled her out of the deck and put it on top of his card.

That amused him even more, and he made a gallant gesture towards the cards. Triumphantly I snatched the ace up and swept the other two to the pile of discarded cards.

We continued playing, I easily winning the first round, he the second. In the third round, I got good cards again and each of us only had three cards left when I seriously considered what the consequences would be if I won.

It wasn’t enough to beat him in this game. No, he wasn’t a moderate man and this was only a little battle. Whatever came next he would also carefully keep score of.

As if sensing my hesitation, he smiled and threw the two of clubs on the table. A two. How the hell did he end up with such a bad card by the end of it? I was obliged to fumingly use up the matching ace.

If he didn’t win the next two tricks, I would win the whole game. I could already taste the victory. Its sweet taste was tainted with uneasiness.

I had the nine of hearts and the king of spades left. Choose the nine, which he easily took with the ten of spades, presumably having no cards left in the suit. I was eagerly awaiting his next card. Finally, he threw it on the table. It was the queen of spades. Triumphantly, I showed my last card. I won the game. I smiled.

But then, he smiled too.

“It seems like, you’ve beaten me, Madam.”

With a practised move he swept the cards back into the deck, then put it back into the pocket of his coat. He took something else out instead. A little glass vial glinted with a golden liquid.

“I think I owe you something now.”

I swallowed, my elation at the win quickly evaporating. I stood too and smoothed down my skirts.

“I never thought you were so eager to please me, Captain,” I said, hoping to ruffle him enough to get out of the agreement. Those hazel eyes were watching me sharply. He dismissed with a shake of his head.

“No. I’m not going to be a sore loser. Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

At this, he gestured towards the bed. A few heartbeats of hesitation later I walked there and sat down on it.

“You’re not planning on sleeping it that, are you?”

I opened my mouth then closed it.

“I hardly think it’s proper…”

He laughed.  
“Proper? Come now, I have seen you in less.”

“That was a perfectly acceptable summer dress in my time, I’ll let you know,” I retorted.

However, that only served to prove his point, so I loosened my dress, then removed it, leaving only my stays, petticoats and shift, which were still a lot more layers than said dress. I still felt practically naked.

“Happy now?”

He walked over and sat down beside me. I stared at him, afraid to blink, but I refused to examine if it was out of fear or excitement.

He uncorked the vial and wet his fingers with the oil. The smell of lavenders filled the air. It wasn’t particularly relaxing in this context. I idly wondered how the oil was made, my mind desperately trying to flee the situation. They most likely wouldn’t have distilled the flowers, only soaked them in the oil until their scent was transferred. It was a softer, more earthy smell than any lavender soap I had used in my time.

With his left hand, Jack pushed my petticoat up and out of the way. There was no escaping his attention. I forced my legs to comfortably fall apart and locked my elbows.

He looked down between my legs and frowned as if assessing the best approach in a battle. He reached out and I stiffened, preparing for the worst, but his touch was light, the oil making his hand even warmer.

His hands, which were still a lot like Frank’s. More tanned, the base of his fingers calloused from the hilt of his sword and God knew what other implements he used to inflict pain and suffering. However, the shape of them, long, elegant fingers, and broad palms were exactly like Frank’s.

It was pretty clear he hadn’t tried to make it good for someone with my anatomy before. He moved his fingers around slowly. It was awkward. Intimate, but not what I would have called pleasurable. He glanced up, then furrowed his brows, displeased at my apparent lack of reaction. I tried to look even more bored. Perhaps if I didn’t give him the satisfaction, he would give up.

Not yet, though.

He scooted up the bed, steadying himself with one hand next to mine. The petticoat was yanked up even higher, and I didn’t protest. He slid two fingers back down. The change of angle suddenly making it a lot better. I bit my lip. Lucky bastard.

Of course, he noticed. He was very close now, gaze intent on my face.

He parted my folds, slowly dragging his fingertips between them. He couldn’t have missed my most sensitive spot, because I made a tiny, involuntary sound.

“Interesting,” he murmured, lips tipping up into a smirk, that at least was very different from Frank’s usual expressions. He rubbed in a small circle with his fingertips and blood rushed between my legs.

He probably wasn’t that good. I blamed it entirely on the fact that it’s been a very long time since someone had touched me like that.

Satisfied with his performance there, he moved his fingers down. One casually dipped inside upon finding me wet. My mouth fell open with a sharp pant.

He raised one of his eyebrows mockingly.  
“Why, Madam, I think you’re enjoying this,” he said, sounding extremely pleased with himself. “How unusual.”

He continued moving his fingers, massaging me with small, relentless movements. I regretted ever opening my mouth.

I licked my lips, preparing to throw something sarcastic at his head, but he was pressing his advantage. His middle finger slid in deep while his thumb continued to rub at me from the outside. The only sound coming out of my mouth was a pathetic moan.

He liked that and didn’t stop there. He loosened my stays and yanked them down so that my breasts spilt out of my shift. An unwelcome thrill ran through my body at being so roughly exposed, while his finger was still inside of me. He bent closer to my chest, a stray hair tickling my skin. He didn’t smell like Frank. He smelled like leather and lavenders and something sharply masculine.

Yet, we were past the point where his similarity to Frank was the only thing arousing me. His tongue was hot on my nipple and it didn’t take long from there. My head fell back as my orgasm washed through me. I stayed as quiet as I could, which wasn’t very quiet at all.

Jack chuckled and pulled away while I tried to get enough air into my lungs. The situation was slowly but surely slipping out of my grasp.

He got up, and poured himself some more wine, sipping it slowly, while regarding me with a predatory look. I started to feel increasingly foolish. I considered covering myself, then I decided against it. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of appearing ashamed.

Jack put the glass down and smacked his lips. He took a step forward.

“That’s one.”

I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

“That’s quite alright,” I tried with a weak smile. “That is already one more than most men can achieve.”

He already smelled blood. He came closer and tsked disapprovingly.

“No. You said I shouldn’t treat you any less because you’re a woman. And I’m reasonably sure I can make you come again.”

He unbuttoned his waistcoat and laid it aside. Then, rolled up his sleeves. While he had already seen me in various forms of undress, that was the least amount of clothing I had seen him in so far.

I stared at his forearms. He had the same strong and lean built that Frank did, but carried himself quite differently, with a predatory grace that made him appear larger. He put a knee on the bed and a part of me reacted in the most embarrassing way to his closeness.

His hands slowly slid up my legs, covering every inch and leaving goosebumps behind. He stopped just above my knees and pushed my thighs apart. His breath was hot on my skin and I realized what he was about to do. I was torn between jumping off the bed and bonelessly flopping down on it.

He didn’t give me time to make up my mind.

His tongue touched me, hot and wet, without an ounce of hesitation. In my limited experience, most men were reluctant to do this. Especially the first time. Not Jack though.

His tongue flicked out, languidly exploring as his finger did. I wished he was at least a little bit more disgusted. But if he was, he didn’t let it show. He moved his mouth. His lips, his tongue and his breath were touching me everywhere, sending delicious tingles up my spine. It was increasingly hard to remember why this was such a bad idea.

Slowly, I lowered myself onto my elbows, then laid back down on the bed.

There was no need for him to see my face. I was making enough noise to let him know I was enjoying it. Bloody hell, he could probably feel me enjoying it.

I pressed my wrist against my lips, halfway succeeding in stifling a whimper.

He wasn’t particularly skilled at it, not like Frank. But he found some kind of rhythm and went at it with savage enthusiasm. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. His mouth was hot, his tongue insistent and with his strong hands pinning me down I had no room to pull away. I fisted my hand into the sheets and arched my back.

I could feel his feral grin, the edge of teeth against my sensitive flesh and it made my legs quiver. Both of us were panting hard by now. He kept going, circling his tongue then dipping down to where his finger was before, lapping like a dog. No, not like a dog. Like a wolf, devouring its prey.

I didn’t stand a chance. He chased me right to the edge and tipped me over again. I came hard, my vision blacking out for a second.

He pulled away, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a shark.  
“That’s two.”

I blinked up at the ceiling. The flesh was throbbing between my legs. Slowly, I sat up. I smoothed my hair down with my hands and adjusted my shift back into a somewhat decent state.

“Well, I think that fulfils the terms of our bargain more than enough,” I said weakly.

Jack arched an eyebrow at me. He re-filled my wineglass and brought it over. I stared at it suspiciously but then accepted. I could use the refreshment.

“Madam, I think you still have illusions about what sort of man I am,” he said.

I took another tiny sip of wine. Suddenly, it felt rather important to win some more time.  
“Please, do enlighten me, Captain,” I said innocently.

He squinted at me.  
“I don’t leave things unfinished.”

He patiently waited until my glass was empty, then plucked it out of my hand, and set it on the floor. Then, straightening, he ran a hand through his hair, temporarily smoothing back those few hairs that came loose from his ribbon. Then he added, in a very casual, matter-of-fact way:

“And I won’t be finished until you completely fall apart.”

He grabbed my arm, flipped me around, and pressed me face-down onto the bed. I huffed, more out of surprise then out of distress.

Unceremoniously, he pushed my shift up again. His hand was still very warm, and by now quite familiar. I could feel him fumbling with the laces of his breeches. Then I felt an unmistakable, naked hardness press against my leg. I shivered in anticipation.

He pushed my thighs apart with his knees. Perhaps I should have been afraid, but I would have been lying if I said I didn’t want him to do it.

After all the work he had done he slid inside as easily as knife into butter. Those few parts of me that he hadn’t already touched were flooded with new sensation. He groaned and started thrusting in and out. I hid my face in the sheets to stifle a moan. He was familiar with this part alright.

He didn’t like me hiding. Long fingers snaked up on my scalp, then slowly fisted in my hair. He pulled my head back. My jaw fell open. Every thrust pushed a pathetic moan out of my throat that I had no way of keeping in now.

I flexed my muscles, not that I could, or wanted to pull away, but as a last desperate attempt at resistance. He pushed his cheek up against mine and slowed down, moving with grounding thrusts that sent little bursts of pleasure through my body.

“I will have your surrender, my dear, have no doubt about it.”

I didn’t have any doubt. My muscles began to shake. The hand in my hair softened and I with it until I melted against the bed. He guided my head down, turning it to one side and petted my hair.  
“There we are.”

Then he nudged my legs even further apart with his knees and began fucking me in earnest. I was too far gone to do anything else but moan incoherently. I tried to find some purchase with my hands, whether to push back or just to hold onto something I didn’t really know. He seemed to have a sixth sense for those kinds of things, a sort of predator instinct and he knew how close he was to getting what he wanted. He guided my hands back, almost gently. He crossed them on my lower back, one strong hand keeping them there, and put more of his weight on me.

So, then I just gave in to how good it all felt. His strong body keeping me down. The relentless pace he was setting. The tingling pleasure creeping up my spine, washing away any logical thought. The details on why I shouldn’t give into it were kind of hazy. I let out a sigh.

“Louder,” he panted.

I pushed out more air out of my lungs, and that made him grind his cock even more deliciously down so I did it again.

“That’s it. Let them hear downstairs how well I’m fucking you.”

I couldn’t see any reason why not, so I did and that seemed to turn him on even more.

“I think Frank will be grateful that I’m breaking you in for him,” he panted. “Make sure you spread your thighs just as sweetly for him, you little whore.”

His words flooded me with hot shame and another wave of helpless arousal. We were swept up in a mad, frenzied rhythm and before I knew it, I came again with a mewl, vision sparkling around the edges.

I vaguely registered him finishing with a groan. He pulled out, and I could feel his seed on my inner thighs, but it wasn’t uncomfortable yet. Everything was soft and hazy, and I was so comfortable, it seemed like a shame to move. Jack was idly fondling my backside and playing with my hole, probably just because he could.

“I think I have proven myself quite capable,” he mused.

I turned over and unceremoniously squished my face against his shoulder.  
“Muh,” I said very intelligently.

He snorted, patted my backside and pulled away. The afterglow started to fade, leaving an uncomfortable, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I should have known it was a horrible mistake to rile him up so much.

We both cleaned up. For once, Jack didn’t talk to me, both of us feeling that the scores had been irrevocably settled.

I crawled under the quilt and pulled it tightly around myself. The bed jolted slightly as he got comfortable on the other side of it. I felt disgusted with myself and missed Frank more than ever.

What will he think of me when he learns about this?

I still hoped to get back to him to find out.


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Time-travel happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills my square "Stone Circles" for the Outlander Bingo Challenge.

The next day we set out towards the standing stones. I was still feeling awkward and ashamed, the tender flesh between my legs protesting slightly against riding and reminding me of exactly what has happened last night. I had expected Jack to tease me about it, but he acted like the perfect gentleman. He helped me get up in the saddle and entertained me with stories that involved neither blood nor flogging.

I thought this was his twisted way of making me feel even worse. It took me a while to realize that he was actually in a good mood. It was the oddest thing.

However, after the way I made an utter fool out of myself the previous night, I really didn’t want to poke him anymore.

It was a cold, overcast day, with some fog lingering in the small groups of trees adorning the landscape. Half a day of uneventful riding later we arrived at the bottom of the hill where Craigh na Dun stood.

As we started climbing, I could already hear the strange buzzing of the stones. No matter how frightening the sound was, it gave me a burst of hope. My goal was finally within my reach. I could leave all that had happened, the dangers, the mistakes, the whole lot of it in the past, where it belonged. And I had a chance of getting back to Frank.

I was just about to quicken my pace when Jack grabbed my arm. He had a deep frown on his face.

“What’s that noise?”

“You hear them?” I asked back, staring at him.

He looked at me like I was mad. At least I was acutely familiar with that look by now.

“Yes, of course,” he answered. “What is it, hornets?”

I shook my head.

“No, it’s the stones.”

I eyed him. I didn’t expect him to hear them. The soldiers who dragged me away certainly didn’t.

“If you hear them,” I speculated, “that means you might fall through them as well if you touch one.”

“Through time?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes. At least that’s what happened to me and I bloody hope it works backwards just as easily. I wasn’t exactly given instructions to these things, you know.”

He finally let go of my arm and spread his hands.

“Well, lead the way then. It’s time to find out whether you’ve told me the truth after all.”

I rolled my eyes. I was eager to get rid of him, but who cared? It wasn’t as if I could prevent him if he wanted to come. I also thought this might work out in my favor as well. He could serve as proof for me too when trying to explain my adventures to Frank.

Frank. At the thought of him, my heart gave a little painful thump and I turned away from his ancestor, fisting my skirts and hoisting them up as I started climbing the hill again.

Getting to the top, I could already feel it. The nauseating pull of the stone in the middle. I took a deep breath to settle myself. Then I reached my left hand towards Jack.

He stared at it as if seeing me for the first time.

“You want to come or not?” I asked impatiently. Finally, he took my hand with visible reluctance.

I took a firm grip of his hand, then thought of Frank, and touched my right hand to the stone.

***

When I came to myself, I couldn’t tell how much time passed. I heard a groan from the side and I opened my eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. I was laying on my back, the circle of stones surrounding me, now completely silent. I turned my head to the side and saw Jack Randall sprawled out next to me, face-down on the grass.

He pushed himself up and blinked at me.

I sat up too and looked around. It didn’t look much different, somehow, I could still feel it wasn’t the same place we just left. Or rather, the same place, but in a different time.

It was a clear, sunny winter’s day, the fog I just saw a minute ago completely gone. Then, I heard it. The sound of a car whizzing down the road.

I shot up, smiling like an idiot and headed towards the sound.

Jack scrambled to follow. When we reached the road, I only took a moment to look around then headed confidently towards Inverness. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jack eyeing the paved road with mistrust. I didn’t give him time to ask and he wasn’t about to let me go now when he came all this way. He caught up with a few long strides.

Inverness was a long walk on foot, but an older gentleman slowed his car down next to us to offer us a ride. I grabbed Jack’s arm as he automatically reached for his sword.

“Re-enactment, huh?” the man asked and I forced a smile.

“Yes, mid-eighteenth-century.”

I had to practically shove Jack into the back of the car. When we sped up he gripped my arm with a bruising force but managed not to say anything. I knew all too well what he was feeling. Served him right.

The man let us out in the town center and I headed towards the guest house where we had stayed before. The air was filled with the familiar scents of my time and I was anxious to see Frank again. Would he still be here? Or did he leave? What was I to do if he left for Oxford? Perhaps he gave up on me by now. A million different scenarios flashed through my mind during the short walk.

I rang the bell, my heart in my throat. It was Mrs. Baird who opened the door, then seeing me immediately put her hand in front of her mouth with a gasp of shock.

“Mrs. Randall!”

“Hi. I… where is my husband? Is Frank here?”

She stared at me, taking in my clothes and general appearance. Then, her gaze flicked over my shoulder. I turned back to saw Jack Randall standing in the middle of the road, looking around, even with his impressive uniform looking for all the world like a lost child in an amusement park.

I took a step aside and blocked Mrs. Baird’s view, hopefully before she could realize his resemblance to Frank.

“Please, Mrs. Baird. Can you tell me where Frank is?”

She seemed to catch on.

“Aye, of course. He rented out a house in the street over there. He was looking for you everywhere and couldn’t be persuaded to go home without you.”

I almost started crying from relief. I squeezed her hand.

“Thank you,” I managed, then turned on my heel and started in the direction she pointed me.

The house was a small one in the neighbouring street. I pressed the doorbell and waited. After a while, I heard footsteps. The key turned and the door slowly opened.

I heard a choking sound and belatedly realized it was I who made it. A set of hazel eyes widened in shock.

“Claire?”

Frank’s voice was hoarse from emotion, and before I knew it, I flung myself forward. He wrapped his arms around me, and I hugged him back tightly, both of us shaking. I was crying and repeating his name like a prayer.

“Frank. Oh, Frank.”

He hugged me even closer, kissing the top of my head where I tucked my face into his chest, probably making a mess of his shirt. I inhaled his familiar scent, warm cedar and sandalwood and let out a shuddering breath.

Then felt him stiffen. That was when he noticed the British officer standing behind me, staring at us. I pulled away and looked back and forth between the two men. Trying, and failing to imagine what it was like for them, to look at another person who was so very similar to themselves.

Jack wore a sort of dumbfounded expression, that looked very out of place on his face. Frank took in his uniform and gaped at him.

“You…”

“Jonathan Wolverton Randall, at your service,” Jack said, with more eagerness than I had ever seen from him. Frank lit up, then looked down at my clothes.

“I cannot believe what that old witch said was true. Come in, gossip here spreads like wildfire.”

***

It was perhaps the most bizarre evenings of my life. I was yearning to be alone with Frank again but also wanted to give him sufficient explanation, to which his ancestor was essential. He seemed to be torn between wanting to make sure, I was alright, and getting every piece of historical information out of Jack that only someone from the past could have known.

For his part, Jonathan Randall seemed to be in some kind of trance. With the way he was smiling at Frank good-naturedly, and patiently answering every one of his questions, he lost almost all resemblance to the feared garrison commander of Fort William. Luckily, this also meant that he had no attention to spare for me know, and after a while, I left them to their talking. By then, Frank assured himself I was not going to disappear into thin air if he took his hand off me, and I personally was looking forward to getting out of my grubby clothes.

Frank kept all my things and after spending a good hour luxuriating in the simple pleasures of hot water and hair shampoo I dressed up went downstairs again.

It was getting late when we took our goodbyes. Frank seemed to have done extensive research on the stones.  
“They are only open for three days,” he said. “And this is the last one. It’s best if you go now,” he added directing his words towards Jack. He absolutely refused to get into a car again, but before he could set out on foot, Frank stopped him.

“One more thing!”

He rummaged around in a drawer and came up with a pendant, a dainty thing with a broken clasp that had some kind of gemstone in the middle and pressed it into his great-great-great-grandfather's hand.

“This supposed to make the passage safer. It is also believed that you should think of something or someone in the time you are trying to travel.”

They clasped hands and it was only after that Jack turned to me. He grabbed my hand and bowed over it.

“Madam, it was a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” I gritted out, then snatched my hand back with an odd mixture of revulsion and the tiniest bit of reluctant fondness. I had no illusions that this miracle of travelling into the future would change his ways. But the meeting did make Frank happy.

***

We stayed up and talked well into the night. There was a cozy fireplace in the living room and curling up on the sofa before it, with Frank’s arms and a plaid blanked around my shoulders felt like coming home even though I haven’t lived a day in that house.

I told him everything.

It didn’t go down without tears. I hadn’t even considered keeping anything from him. Life gave me not just a second, but a third chance and I wasn’t going to waste it.

“At first, I didn’t want to believe it,” he said to me later. “I’m not a superstitious kind, you know that. But then, there was no other logical explanation.”

It was Mrs. Graham who has first told him about the stones.

“I thought she was mad. I almost left for Oxford. But it just felt wrong,” he said, frowning. “So, I stopped the car and I went up to the stones. I…” he looked embarrassed. “I swear I could hear you.”

I stared at him in awe.

“I think, you really heard me,” I answered, then explained that I almost got to the stones, before the soldiers took me away. “But then,” I added, “based on your research it wouldn’t have worked on that day anyway?”

He nodded.

“You disappeared on Samhain. I hoped… very much hoped you would get back with this coming Yule. After going back, Mrs. Graham told me that was when the stones would open next.”

I smiled at him, the thought of him being there on the other side of the stones warming my heart. I pulled him down for a soft kiss. I could still taste the tea on his lips, and I was grateful for the simple pleasures of strong black tea and kissing the man I loved.

Frank smiled back at me, his hazel eyes warm in the firelight.

“It was against every logic, yet I knew… deep down I knew you were somewhere trying to get back to me.”

After a while, we moved to the bedroom. Even though he slept here for months now only half the room seemed to be used. I smiled, and closed my eye for a second, almost dozing off standing up.

He reached out and took my arm. I opened my eyes and my heart jumped, pumping an unnecessary amount of adrenalin through my bloodstream. For a single second that hand was the one used to handling a whip and he looked at me with the cold eyes of his ancestor. I pushed him away on instinct.

He steadied himself on the bedpost and we blinked at each other.

“Claire? Is everything alright?”

I shook my head, then nodded, then shook my head some more. I let out a frustrated huff and walked over to him, putting my hands on his chest.

“It’s been a very long day, I’m just jumpy. Sorry for pushing you.”

He smiled that crooked smile of his, full of good humor and a hint of mischief.

“Well, you can push me around, you know.” He cleared his throat. “Remember when we had dinner with my colleagues and you bossed them around all evening? My god, that was such a turn on.”

I couldn’t help but smile myself. The lingering shadow of Black Jack was gone. This was my husband, my first love. Eager, blushing slightly and so so very earnest.

I cocked my head to the side.

“Okay. I can do that.” I looked him up and down. “Lose some layers?”

It was easy to slide back into our usual flirty banter. He bit his lip.

“Of course, Madam.”

I flinched at that. He heard Jack say that and now peered at me with a cheeky grin.

“You don’t want me to call you that?”

I thought about it for a second. Then shrugged.

“No, it’s fine. Actually,” I smiled, “I like it coming from you.”

He made a show of unbuttoning his shirt, and something slowly calmed down in me. He shrugged his suspenders, toed off his shoes and took down his trousers. He stopped, in his underwear. I could see he was already half-hard from anticipation. Perhaps it would have felt rushed for someone else, but physical intimacy was always our easiest way back to each other.

“Should I just get on the bed?” he asked pointing his thumb behind his back. “Until you decide what to do with me?”

I chuckled.

“Yes, please.”

He lay down, and I only made him wait for a heartbeat. I kicked my shoes off as well and crawled on top of him, still dressed. His body was solid, warm and familiar underneath me. He lay his hands out next to his head, completely relaxed, and watched me with a sort of fascinated look on his face.

His palms were soft and smooth. I put my right hand on top of his, then the left, lacing our fingers together. I smiled down at him. His lips were open and he was panting slightly. He licked them.

“Claire,” he started, voice thick with emotion, “I… you can do what you want to me. Whatever you need after what happened. I won’t think less of you. Just… please don’t leave me again.”

I touched our foreheads together.

“I won't. I didn’t _want_ to leave you. You have to know that,” I said, my own voice wavering. I sighed, a knot suddenly easing in my chest. “And it’s so good to be home.”

I rubbed the tip of my nose gently against his and he smiled up at me. I kissed him then, slow and deep and proceeded to do exactly what I wanted with him.

***

As the day passed, I slowly got back to the rhythm of my old life. With each day the past seemed further and further away, in a safe distance, and eventually, feeling more and more like a bad dream. There was one thing, however, that didn’t let it fade away completely.

I stared at Frank, intently awaiting his reaction.

“That is fantastic, darling.”

Of course, he would be happy. We always wanted to start a family together. Only, that it never happened, no matter how much we tried.

“Maybe the eighteenth-century air and diet did it?” he joked.

I refrained from commenting and waited for him to think it over. That was the more unlikely explanation. I instantly saw it on his face when he thought of the more likely one.

“Or maybe the problem has been me all along.”

I swallowed, stuttering awkwardly.  
“Well, it’s either yours or…” I shrugged and wrapped my arms around myself. He accepted what happened, but I was still afraid this might finally drive him away.

He just walked closer and pulled me in his arms. Then smoothed one of his wonderfully large, elegant, and in my secret opinion, beautiful hands on my belly.

“Either way, it’s a Randall.”

I smiled up at him, and for the first time in a very long time, I thought that everything just might be okay.


End file.
